Page 36 of He Falls First

She looks up at me with a question in her eyes. “You don’t want…?”

“We’ve released enough tension for tonight,” I tell her. It’s a half-truth; what I don’t say is that her touch would shatter the last vestiges of my control, and I’m not ready to lose myself just yet. “And you were right. It felt damn good.”

“Good,” she breathes out, a hint of mischief in those deep blue eyes. “I’m glad you think so.”

“Are you feeling good?” I ask, even though I already know the answer, still dripping down my fingers.

“Better than good,” she says with a lazy smile, pressing her cheek against the cool wood of the desk.

I hold her close for a moment, ensuring she’s really okay. It’s more than just checking off a responsible box; I need to know she hasn’t been hurt by our tangled mess of needs and wants. Her head rests against my shoulder—a delicate weight—and I feel her steady breathing.

I help her stand, pulling her close enough to feel the rise and fall of her chest against mine.

“Sure you’re okay?” It’s a question loaded with more concern than I let show.

“More than okay,” she assures, reaching up to trace a finger down my cheek. “Hendrix?”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me about LocalLink.” Curiosity replaces the sultry tone in her voice. The shift is jarring, but maybe it’s for the best. A cold splash of reality after the scorching heat of our encounter.

“LocalLink.” I take a breath, refocusing. “It’s about empowering small businesses, giving them the tools they need to thrive in the digital age without getting eaten alive by the big players.”

Her interest is genuine, and it anchors me back to reality, pulling me from the edge where passion meets vulnerability. The transition isn’t smooth, but necessary. As I lay out my vision, my mental fog parts, and I’m suddenly back to another time, another place.

Tobias and I had just started out, eager and naïve. I remember the panic clawing at my throat when I realized my error—the one that could’ve sunk us.

“Damn it!” I slammed my fist onto the desk in our makeshift office—a glorified garage space. A coding oversight, minor but with major legal ramifications, threatened everything we’d built from scratch.

“Hey, little brother,” Tobias said, voice calm and steady. “Let me handle this.”

And he did. With his silver tongue and connections I didn’t even know he had, Tobias smoothed it over like it was nothing more than a hiccup. We should’ve been sunk, but instead, we were buoyant and grateful.

“Thanks, man,” I said, clapping him on the back, emotions lodged thick in my throat. Our shared struggle to make it had always been the glue, binding us tighter than any blood oath could.

“Family first, Hendrix. Always,” Tobias replied with a grin, his green eyes alight with something I’d mistaken for loyalty.

My bond with my brother had once meant everything to me. Now? Now, Tobias is little more than a reminder of what I can’t afford to be—vulnerable. And yet here I am, feeling exactly that with Elizabeth so close, her vanilla scent wrapping around me like a second skin.

“Anyway.” I clear my throat. “That’s LocalLink. My vision. It’s important.”

“Sounds ambitious,” Elizabeth says, pulling me back from the past. Her voice is warm like summer twilight, and I realize how much I miss that kind of trust and connection. How much I miss having a partner like Tobias on my side.

“Yeah,” I say. “But it’s going to change the game.”

“Change can be good,” she says thoughtfully, her gaze locked on mine. “Local communities need this, Hendrix. Tech has so much potential to empower people, but not if they can’t access it.”

Her words hit me with a jolt of hope. She’s not just my dutiful assistant or a challenge to conquer; she’s got this fire in her for the things that matter. That’s rare. And damn attractive.

“I’ve always believed in the power of tech to empower local communities,” she continues. “It levels the playing field, you know? Gives everyone a shot at success.” Her eyes light up with that spark I’ve come to recognize, the one that shows her determination and heart.

The temptation to spill everything—to tell her how she’s been haunting my thoughts, how I see her even when my eyes are closed—is overwhelming. But I shove it down, bury it under layers of logic and restraint. She’s too important now, too, for me to scare her off with my intensity.

“Have you ever considered working on something like LocalLink?” I ask instead, my voice surprisingly steady. “Your insight could be invaluable. And, uh, we could use someone like you to help sway the board.”

She regards me, her deep blue eyes searching mine as if she’s weighing my sincerity against some unspoken fear. Finally, she nods, a slow smile spreading across her face.

“I’d love to. I mean, what better way to really make an impact?”

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